


On The Ridge

by DDDragoni



Series: Tacos on Siesta [1]
Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Unlimited Tacos (Blaseball Team)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27225310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DDDragoni/pseuds/DDDragoni
Summary: A season after the defeat of The Shelled One, the Unlimited Tacos' newest player approaches the team's other pitcher with some questions about the past.
Series: Tacos on Siesta [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025218
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	On The Ridge

Sexton Wheerer, pitcher for the Unlimited Tacos, lay on a hilltop, watching the stars twinkle in the night sky above him. Ever since the Snackrifice, opportunities to just relax had been few and far between. He’d either been pitching, preparing to pitch, or exhausted from pitching for three and half seasons now, but the ILB taking a siesta had finally given a chance to sit and reflect.

A grunt of exertion caught his attention and he looked down to see Peanut Bong, the other pitcher for the Tacos, hauling himself up onto the ledge a few feet away and collapsing onto his back, breathing heavily. “Why... did you come... all the way up here...”

“Wanted a bit of space. It’s a lot easier when you have four legs.” Sexton picked up one of the water bottles he’d brought with him and rolled it across the hilltop towards the other pitcher. “I could ask you the same question--you obviously didn’t enjoy the hike as much as I did, so what made you decide to follow me up here?”

Bong picked up the bottle with a weak sound of thanks and took a deep drink, then sat for a moment to let his breath steady. “I wanted to ask you about some stuff, Mr. Wheerer, if that’s okay. If you’d rather be alone, I can just head back down.”

He wasn’t exactly happy about having his solitude interrupted, but Sexton could tell there was something... different about the way Bong was acting tonight. He was uncharacteristically solemn, in a way that couldn’t entirely be accounted for by the fatigue from the climb. There was obviously something on his mind, something that was bothering him enough to drive him all the way up here. “No, it’s alright. Ask away.”

Bong was silent for a moment, staring out across the desert with his legs dangling over the ridge. “What was it like? Before I got here, when it was just you pitching?”

Sexton took a deep inhale, letting the cool night air fill his lungs. “When the birds first pecked me loose, I was... confused. Lost. All our plans ended with the shells, we never accounted for afterward. I was never a planner, that was always Pothos, or Leaf, or Patel--they were the ones who drove us forward, who drove me forward. So I did the only thing I could think of, I pitched. PM was there for the rest of that season, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but what kept me going was the thought that someday soon the others would get pecked free too. Even in season 9, when it was just me, I’d step up to the mound day after day, not wanting to let them down. Every time I saw birds circling overhead, I thought to myself, ‘This is the day. This is the day when they’re getting out of there.’ But Season 9 came and went and...”

His voice wavered and trailed off. He closed his eyes for a moment, unconsciously tossing a bottle back and forth from one hoof to another, before looking back up toward the stars. “I always blamed myself, on some level, for what happened to Quitter. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but no matter how much I told myself it was just bad luck, there was always that nagging thought at the back of my mind that she was taken as a recompense of sorts, for me getting free. One Taco for another. I know it doesn’t make sense, nothing like that ever happened to Jessica’s or Nagomi’s teams, but even so, it never really went away.”

“It was... harder, in season ten. My body was already exhausted from ninety-nine straight games, and with the chance of the birds freeing the others gone, my mind was starting to go too. I don’t even remember most of the early or midseason, it was just... grab ball, throw ball, grab ball, throw ball, until someone came and walked me to the dugout. I didn’t even notice Dovenpart was gone until a couple weeks in. The rest of the team was the only reason I made it to the end of the season, they made sure I got food, and water, and rest, they kept trying to convince me to take a break, but...” He went silent again. Bong shivered as the wind whistled past the ridge.

“But that would mean giving up on them. The Tacos didn’t stand a chance of winning the League, let alone against the Shelled One, but no matter how slim the chance, I had to try. I couldn’t just abandon them.” He shook his head, chuckling slightly. “And somehow, it actually worked. For the first time ever, the Tacos made the playoffs. The rest of the team deserves the real credit, I’m a mediocre pitcher even when I’m rested, and of course we got creamed, but even getting there felt meaningful. I crashed hard after that, slept for almost three days straight, and the team made sure I stayed in bed for another week. McDowell can be very persuasive when he wants to be.”

“Seeing them again wasn’t any easier the second time. If anything, it was worse without the shock. The look on Quitter’s face when she took down the Crabs with a single swing... I almost didn’t recognize her. Everything after that was a blur, the Hall Stars, the Monitor--I saw it with my own eyes and it’s still hard to believe. But knowing that someone had saved them, even if it wasn’t us? That’s the best feeling I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. And the next day, you showed up, and well, you know the rest.” Sexton smiled up at the stars. “I’m sorry, that was probably more than you wanted to hear. You caught me in a bit of an introspective mood.”

“...Mr Wheerer?” Bong’s voice was quieter than it had been, and shakier, like he was on the verge of tears. Sexton looked down to see he’d pulled his legs up to his chest and was staring down at his feet. Next to the centaur, he looked very small. “Do... do you hate me?”

Sexton binked, shocked. “Hate you? Why would you think that?”

Bong sniffed and wiped his nose. “B-because I’m a Peanut, and the Peanut h-h-hurt so many people, and put people in shells because I couldn’t get high enough on the idol board, and it took your friends away, and now they’re all gone, and I’m here instead.” Sexton opened his mouth to respond, but Bong just kept going as tears began to slowly drip from his eyes. “a-and whenever we’re in the dugout, or doing team stuff between games, you’re always go to the other side of the room from me, and when I try and go over you always walk away, and, and...”

“Listen to me,” Sexton interrupted, leaning towards Bong and placing one arm on the ground between them. “Listen to me! None of what happened is your fault. You didn’t choose to have that... _thing_ fixate on you, you don’t control where you are on the idol board, and you didn’t force us to make the Snackrifice. We all went into that willingly, knowing it was a risk. And you definitely didn’t choose to have your mind taken over by some sort of evil nut god. Everything that happened during the last few seasons was either bad luck or something way out of your control. I don’t blame you for it, the team doesn’t blame you for it, and you definitely shouldn’t blame yourself for it.

“Besides, it’s not like everyone that got taken by the Pods is gone forever, they’re just somewhere else now. We still see them at games and talk online, and as long as Vito can get the truck fixed sometime this century we should be able to spend some actual in-person quality time soon.”

As if summoned, the skeleton’s voice carried up on the breeze. “LOUSY OVERSIZED PENNY, COULDN’T EVEN GIVE US A CHARIOT WITH A WORKING CARBOURATOR, ‘TOTAL FAIRNESS’ MY...” The distant cursing faded out, leaving the two pitchers in silence once again.

Bong sniffled and wiped his eyes. “So... you don’t hate me?”

“No, I don’t hate you. I’m glad you’re a part of this team. You always do your best to make sure everyone’s happy and you’re always ready to lend a hand. You more than pull your weight on the field- not just any pitcher can strike out Cashmoney as much as you did. And just speaking personally? I’m glad I only had to pitch fifty-four games this season instead of a hundred and seven. You’re a part of this team, and that means you’re family.”

Bong slumped forward slightly, the tension draining out of his body. “So... if you don’t hate me, why are you always avoiding me?”

Sexton inhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s, uh... my allergies.” He opened one of the pockets on his jacket and showed Bong one of the six epipens inside. “Ever since I was unshelled, I’ve been... extremely allergic to peanuts. If it was just a typical allergy, that’d be fine, I deal with those all the time, but this is some sort of superallergy. If I so much as smell them I practically go catatonic. I wasn’t sure if you’d trigger it, so I thought it was better safe than sorry. I should have told you, but never really figured how to bring it up. Sorry.”

“Oh, is that it?” Bong leapt to his feet. “Raul and I tested that back on the Dale, I don’t trigger allergies! He thought it might be something about me just being peanut-shaped? I don’t really know how it works.”

Sexton chuckled, shaking his head. “Really, you already had that figured out? I really dropped the ball on that one, could have avoided this mess.” He stood up slowly, stretching out his arms. “Alright, it’s getting late. We should head back down to the others. C’mere.”

Bong took a couple steps towards Sexton, who reached out and grabbed him under the arms before hoisting the smaller pitcher up onto his back. Bong let out a small squeak, grabbing onto the back of Sexton’s main. “Whoa, really? Rat Mason says you never let anyone ride you!”

“I think I owe you after all of this. A ride down this hill’s the least I can do. Now hold on tight!”

Bong let out a whoop as Sexton lept from the ridge, the clattering of hoofsteps echoing in the distance, fainter and fainter, until all that was left atop the ridge was the wind and the glistening of the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Things I learned while writing this: it's a struggle to write a dramatic scene where one of the characters is named "Peanut Bong."
> 
> I've had this idea kind of bouncing around my head for a day or two, then the Tacos chat got to talking about how Sexton doesn't get much characterization and I snowballed into this. I don't have much experience with fanfic or writing in general so constructive criticism is very welcome!


End file.
